“Whishtrew, whishtrew, every bit of me! Whativer will I do, God knows.
The blue ribbon there forenint me, and the blessed infants one to aich
side”!
The good nurse fell against a chest of drawers, as she uttered this
loud lament; the colour ebbed from her cherry cheeks, and her sturdy
form shook with terror. She had scarcely turned her back, she could
swear, upon her precious charges; and now only look at the murder
of it! Two little cots stood side by side, not more than four feet
asunder; and on each cot fast asleep lay a fine baby, some three or
four days old. Upon the floor between them was a small rosette of blue
ribbon. The infants were slumbering happily; and breathing as calmly as
could be. Each queer little dump of a face was nestled into its pillow;
and a small red podge, which was meant for an arm, lay crosswise upon
the flannel. Nothing could look more delicious to the eyes of a fine
young woman.
Nevertheless, that fine young woman, Mrs. Biddy OʼGaghan, stood gazing
from one cot to the other, in hopeless and helpless dismay. Her comely
round face was drawn out with horror, her mouth wide open, and large
tears stealing into her broad blue Irish eyes.
“And the illigant spots upon them, as like as two Blemishing spannels;
nor the blissed saints in heaven, if so be they was tuk to glory, afore
they do be made hairyticks, cudnʼt know one from the ither, no more nor
the winds from the brazes. And there go the doctorʼs bell again! Oh
whurra–strew, whurra, whurra”!
Now Biddy OʼGaghan would scarcely have been head–nurse at Nowelhurst
Hall, before she was thirty years old, but for her quick self–reliance.
She was not the woman therefore to wring her hands long, and look
foolish. Her Irish wit soon suggested so many modes of solution, all so
easy, and all so delightfully free from reason, that the only question
was how to listen to all at once. First she went and bolted carefully
both the doors of the nursery. Then, with a look of triumph, she rushed
to her yellow workbox, snatched up a roll of narrow tape, some pins,
and a pair of scissors, and knelt upon the floor very gingerly, where
the blue ribbon lay. Then, having pinned one end of the tape to the
centre of the rosette, and the rosette itself to the carpet, she let
the roll run with one hand, and drew the tape tight with the other,
until it arrived at the nose of the babe ensconced in the right–hand
cot. There she cut it off sharply, with a snip that awoke the child,
who looked at her contemplatively from a pair of large grey eyes.
Leaving him to his meditations, she turned the tape on the pin, and
drew it towards the nasal apology of the other infant. The measure
would not reach; it was short by an inch and a half. What clearer proof
could be given of the title to knot and pendency?
But alas for Biddyʼs triumph! The infant last geometrised awoke at that
very moment, and lifting his soft fat legs, in order to cry with more
comfort, disclosed the awkward fact that his left knee was nearer by
three inches to the all–important rosette, than was any part of his
brother. Biddy shook anew, as she drew the tape to the dimples. What is
the legal centre of a human being? Upon my word, I think I should have
measured from the _ὀμφαλός_.
Ere further measurement could be essayed, all the premises were gone
utterly; for the baby upon the right contrived to turn in the flannels,
as an unsettled silkworm pupa rolls in his cocoon. And he managed to
revolve in the wrong direction; it was his fate through life. Instead
of coming towards the rosette, as a selfish baby would have done, away
he went, with his grey eyes blinking at the handle of the door. Then he
put up his lips, like the ring of a limpet, and poked both his little
fists into his mouth.
“Well, I never”, cried Bridget; “that settles it altogether. Plase the
saints an’ he were a rogue, itʼs this way heʼd ha’ come over on his
blessed little empty belly. My darlin’ dumplin’ dillikins, itʼs you as
it belongs to, and a fool I must be to doubt of it. Donʼt I know the
bend o’ your nose, and the way your purty lips dribbles, then? And to
think I was near a robbing you! What with the sitting up o’ nights, and
the worry of that carroty spalpeen, and the way as they sends my meals
up, Paddy OʼGaghan, as is in glory, wud take me for another manʼs wife”.
With great relief and strong conviction, Mrs. OʼGaghan began to stitch
the truant rosette upon the cap of the last–mentioned baby, whence
(or from that of the other) it had dropped through her own loose
carelessness, before they were cuddled away. And with that ribbon she
stitched upon him the heritage of the old family, the name of “Cradock
Nowell”, borne by the eight last baronets, and the largest estates and
foremost rank in all the fair county of Hants.
“Sure an’ it wonʼt come off again”, said Biddy to the baby, as she
laid down her needle, for, like all genuine Irishwomen, she despised a
thimble; “and itʼs meself as is to blame, for not taking a nick on your
ear, dear. A big fool I must be only to plait it in afore, and only
for thinkin’ as it wud come crossways, when you wint to your blissed
mammy, dear. And little more you be likely to get there, Iʼm afeared,
me darlinʼ. An’ skeared anybody would be to hoort so much as a hair oʼ
your skull, until such time as you has any, you little jule of jewels,
and I kisses every bit on you, and knows what you be thinking on in the
dead hoor of the night. Bless your ticksy–wicksies, and the ground as
you shall step on, and the childer as you shall have”.
Unprepared as yet to contemplate the pleasures of paternity, Master
Cradock Nowell elect opened great eyes and great mouth, in the
untutored wrath of hunger; while from the other cot arose a lusty yell,
as of one already visited by the injustice of the world. This bitter
cry awoke the softness and the faint misgivings of the Irishwomanʼs
heart.
“And the pity of the world it is ye canʼt both be the eldest. And bedad
you should, if Biddy OʼGaghan had the making of the laws. There shanʼt
be any one iver can say as ye havenʼt had justice, me honey”.
Leaving both the unconscious claimants snugly wrapped and smiling, she
called to her assistants, now calmly at tea in an inner room. “Miss
Penny, run down now just, without thinking, and give my compliments,
Mrs. OʼGaghanʼs kind compliments to the housekeeperʼs room, and would
Mrs. Toaster oblige me with her big square scales? No weights you
neednʼt bring, you know. Only the scales, and be quick with them”.
“And please, maʼam, what shall I say as you wants them for”?
“Never you mind, Jane Penny. Wait you till your betters asks of you.
And maynʼt I weigh my grandfatherʼs silver, without ask you, Jane
Penny? And likely youʼd rather not, and good reason for that same, I
dessay, after the way as I leaves it open”.
Overlooking this innuendo, as well as the slight difficulty of
weighing, without weights, imaginary bullion, Miss Penny hurried
away; for the wrath of the nurse was rising, and it was not a thing
to be tampered with. When Jane returned with the beam of justice, and
lingered fondly in the doorway to watch its application, the head–nurse
sidled her grandly into the little room, and turned the key upon her.
“Go and finish your tea, Miss Penny. No draughts in this room, if you
please, miss. Save their little sowls, and divil a hair upon them. Now
come here, my two chickabiddies”.
Adjusting the scales on the bed, where at night she lay with the
infants warm upon her, she took the two red lumps of innocence in her
well–rounded arms, and laid one in either scale. As she did so, they
both looked up and smiled: it reminded them, I suppose, of being laid
in their cradles. Blessing them both, and without any nervousness—for
to her it could make no difference—she raised by the handle the
balance. It was a very nice question—which baby rose first from the
counterpane. So very slight was the difference, that the rosette
itself might almost have turned the scale. But there was a perceptible
difference, of perhaps about half an ounce, and that in favour of the
sweet–tempered babe who now possessed the ribbon; and who, as the
other rose slowly before him, drew up his own little toes, and tried
prematurely to crow at him. Prematurely, my boy, in many ways.
No further mistrust was left in the mind of Mrs. OʼGaghan. Henceforth
that rosetted infant is like to outweigh and outmeasure his brother, a
hundredfold, a thousandfold, in every balance, by every standard, save
those of self, and of true love, and perhaps of the kingdom of Heaven.